


a casual affair

by Murf1307



Series: 2018 V-Day Fic Blast #2: Everything Else [4]
Category: DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Cunnilingus, M/M, New 52, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 08:46:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13830624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: Lex has a very interesting Valentine's Day evening, and Superman is very much the reason.





	a casual affair

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I write Lex as a trans man; in this fic, he transitioned after leaving Smallville, but had come out to Clark beforehand. This is referenced but not explained in this fic.

Valentine’s Day has always been Lex’s absolute  _ least _ favorite holiday.  Sure, part of it is due to the reasons you’d expect, given his childhood and romantic history — so, by thirty-three, he knows he's a bitter old asshole when it comes to romance.  And he is legitimately annoyed by the idea that at least one day out of the year, love has a supposed material value.  After all, it never worked out for him, rich and powerful as he is.

But part of it is just loneliness.  If someone loved him, or, hell, if he was regularly having sex, he probably wouldn't be so bitter.

He wouldn't know, though, since he's never really had a  _ lover _ on Valentine’s day.  

Anyway, the fact of the matter is that he's in a very exclusive, expensive nightclub, with several bottles of very,  _ very  _ expensive champagne.  Metropolis is awash in pink and red, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, might pull a girl from the crowd for a drink in his booth.

And then, as things are wont to do in this town, things go spectacularly wrong.

An explosion bursts open the nightclub wall, and Lex begins to calculate how much time it’ll take to get one of his suits here, if it’s worth it, or if he should just use the laser pistol in his ankle holster.

The cause of the explosion is a man, about Lex’s age, who seems...familiar, somehow.  Lex is fairly sure he doesn’t remember him in any significant way — maybe he’d been a driver or a flight attendant or a masseuse or something, if they’ve even actually met before.

He’s clad in black, wearing a pair of hover boots that look like something Lex might’ve worn a decade ago, but slightly uglier aesthetically.

Psh.  Some kind of villain wannabe.  

Those people never do learn.

Lex gets up out of his booth as the man lands just inside the club.  A well-timed shot would send him off the edge.  He probably wouldn’t die, if he had any skill with those ugly boots, after all.

But he has a feeling the League might take issue with him just shooting a man for blowing out a wall.

Sighing, he hits the button on the inside of his watch’s wristband to summon one of his lighter suits.  He doesn’t need big hulking guns to deal with one man who can fly — after all, “men who fly” has always been his specialty.

“All right, I think that’s enough,” he says, drily drawing attention to himself.  “These people’s only crime is wanting to have a little fun.”

The man swings around, and  _ oh, _ a  _ laser sword _ , how crass.  Looks like it was intentionally shaped like an Ancient Greek weapon, too.  Just  _ piling _ on the cliches, apparently.

“I’m not here for any of these people; I'm here for  _ you _ .”

Oh, joy.

Thankfully, the man doesn’t seem to want to waste time on monologuing, and just attacks, rushing him with the laser sword.

Lex’s gun is in his hand in a second or two with the ease of long practice and the flick of a magnetic switch.  However, he doesn’t have the opportunity to actually use it; one moment, the man is rushing him, and then, Lex can’t see him anymore.

That’s what happens when he has a very familiar red cape in front of him.  

“Well, I can’t say I expected to see you here tonight,” Lex drawls as Superman sends the man flying.

“I was in the area and saw your suit fly by without you in it.”  There’s a smile in Superman’s voice, almost teasing.  “Figured if it warranted a bulletproof suit, I might be able to help.”

The man staggers to his feet from where he landed, and, because he apparently doesn’t know when to stay down, he rushes Superman.

The  _ fizz-pop _ noise of lasers on Kryptonian flesh is a little fascinating, if Lex is honest, but he won’t say it out loud.  He’s supposed to be one of the good guys now, and he doubts Superman would appreciate knowing that Lex still thinks about parts of him like he would a science experiment.

Not  _ all _ of him.  Just...parts.

Superman sighs, like he’s just as disappointed in the bad guy as Lex is, and grabs him by the scruff of his neck in one hand, lifting him off the ground.  A brief twist of his other hand dislocates or breaks — Lex isn’t sure, and doesn’t much care — the man’s wrist, the sword falling uselessly to the ground.  

Yowling, the man tries to punch Superman with his remaining good hand.  

It goes about as well as expected.

Quietly, Lex sends his suit back home.

 

* * *

 

After the man — apparently, a former museum worker who hated Lex’s purchases of several pieces of Ancient Greek artwork and weaponry on the world market enough to want him dead — leaves in handcuffs, Lex makes an impulsive decision.

“If you don’t have other plans,” he begins, looking at Superman with a bit of a smirk, “I have a private booth.  You’re welcome to stay for a drink.”

Superman’s eyes widen for a moment, and he almost hesitates.  “Sure.”

Lex nods, smirking a little wider, and leads Superman through the velvet curtain, closing it behind them.

A bottle of champagne sits in a bucket of dry ice, which smokes slightly, creating an interesting ambiance, in Lex’s opinion.  Superman, on the other hand, seems to eye the dry ice with a certain amount of suspicion.

“It’s not going to bite you.  It’s just champagne.”

Superman rolls his eyes — and ah,  _ there’s _ Clark.

That’s one of the perks of working with the Justice League; he has the opportunity to see more than glimpses of his childhood friend beneath the Superman facade.  

Clark relaxes a little.  “You really have the weirdest life,” he says.

Lex laughs, just a little.  “Says the alien from outer space,” he replies, genuinely teasing.

This part still feels tentative and new.  Lex is pretty sure Clark doesn’t quite trust him yet, but Lex doesn’t necessarily  _ want _ Clark’s trust.  Just his attention, and, now and then, his good opinion.

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who went to prom in a dress,” Clark shoots back.  

“You’re the one who went to prom with a boy in a dress,” he points out, his smirk turning a little wicked.  Clark’s never brought this up before — he rarely references their shared childhood in mixed company, and Lex is fairly sure this is the first time in a long time that they’ve been alone together.

Clark laughs.  “Yeah, well, it was a good night, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”  Lex considers it, the memories feeling oddly warm.  “I very nearly got into a fistfight with the homecoming king, if I remember correctly.”

“That’s why we left,” Clark adds wryly.  “I didn’t want to see you get suspended for punching Whitney.”

Lex chuckles.  “Don’t worry, I remember.”

“And then we went for a drive.”

That isn’t even the half of it.  

Lex hadn’t been a virgin, but Clark had been, and sometimes, Lex still wakes up from pleasant, soft dreams of that night.  For years and years, he’s hated those dreams more than most nightmares.

“Yes,” he says.  “All the way up to the lake, where I remember having some fun.”

Clark flushes, and Lex counts it as a victory.

“Anyway, Clark, would you like a glass of champagne?” 

 

* * *

 

The night has taken a turn for the interesting, the bass thumping outside the curtained booth feeling heavy in Lex’s chest.  Clark is almost too close now, the heat of his body intense and the blue of his eyes even more so at this proximity.

“It’s funny, you know,” he ventures, his hand slipping out to land on Clark’s thigh, “that you mentioned prom night.  I’d thought you must’ve forgotten by now.”

Clark inhales, just a little, just sharply enough to sent a little skitter of pleasure up and down Lex’s spine.  “How would I forget that?”

“I don’t know.  Maybe you would have wanted to.  I mean, I didn’t exactly turn out in a way you would approve of.”  He’s mostly teasing.  He, personally, doesn’t need Clark’s approval, at least at the moment.  

“It was a good night.  I like remembering the good nights.”  Clark shrugs one shoulder.  “Why?  Is something wrong with that?”

“No.”  Lex shifts a little closer.  “But it does make all of this a little more interesting, doesn’t it?”

Heat builds in Clark’s eyes.  “Are you saying…?”

“I’m saying what I’m saying,” Lex dismisses, “Nothing more or less.”

He doesn’t need Clark’s affection.  Right now, he just wants his hands and his lust.

And right now, it looks like he might get it.

 

* * *

 

They eventually make their way to a hotel room, stopping for Clark to change into something less obtrusive.

As soon as they’re alone in the room, Lex finds himself pressed against the wall, Clark’s mouth sealing over his.  He groans, enjoying the act of being pinned in this context only, and rolls his hips against Clark’s, seeking friction.

Clark rumbles in response, rolling his own hips with an almost bruising force.  Lex  _ loves _ it.

It’s very different than the last time — there’s nothing tentative or nervous left in either of them, all of that left behind in their teenage years.  Now, they know what they want, and exactly how to get it.

Clark doesn’t ask before he tears Lex’s shirt open, his hand tracing Lex’s chest, mapping his pectorals and the light, thin scars underneath.  Lex’s breath catches.  He hasn’t been with someone so forward with his scars in years; women tended not to notice them, and men seemed to want to ignore them.

“This is different,” Clark says, after breaking the kiss.  His hand splays over one of Lex’s pecs.  “Not bad, but different.”

“I was twenty,” Lex offers.  “It didn’t seem reasonable to wait any longer than that.”

Clark nods.  “It suits you.”  He kisses Lex again, briefly.  “Anything else I should know about?”

Lex lets out a huff of a laugh and smirks.  “Well, things are a little different downstairs, but I think you’ll manage just fine.”

He’s a little drier now, in general, but the idea of Clark between his legs, getting reacquainted with the “furniture,” as it were, gets him wet.  He drags Clark into another kiss, rolling his hips again.  “Now, don’t you want to see for yourself?”

“Oh, I do.”  Clark smirks and catches Lex by his hips, lifting him.  Lex wraps his legs around Clark’s waist in response, rolling his eyes indulgently.  

Clark drops him on the bed unceremoniously, and strips out of his own shirt before joining him.

Lex shrugs out of the remains of his own shirt, eyes roving over Clark’s bare chest.  He’s bigger, of course, than he’d been the last time Lex had seen him like this, and honestly, it’s more than a little bit of a turn on for Lex.

“How attached to these pants are you?” Clark asks.

“Not very,” Lex admits.  “Mercy can always send me clothes in the morning.”

That’s the only assurance Clark seems to need, because he tucks his fingers into the waist of Lex’s pants and tears them open, his eyes tracing over skin as it’s revealed.  He catches Lex’s underwear, as well, so those fall away as well.  

Clark slides his hands up Lex’s thighs, pushing the torn fabric aside.  Feeling magnanimous, Lex spreads his legs just a little, his clit stiff where it pokes out from the thatch of his pubic hair.  

“That’s bigger than I remember,” Clark observes, “Is that from the hormones?”

Coming from anyone else, the question would’ve felt insulting.  But Clark, damn him, only holds earnest curiosity in his voice, as though Lex doesn’t even have to answer the question if he doesn’t want to.  

“Yes,” he confirms.  “I considered surgery, but nothing’s good enough yet.”

Clark laughs.  “That sounds like exactly the kind of reason you wouldn’t get a surgery.”  He grins at Lex, his hands up at the joint of Lex’s hip and inner thigh.  Tantalizingly close, but just barely not close enough.

Lex doesn’t arch his hips, though, or indicate how much he wants Clark to touch him.  That would look desperate, and Lex  _ refuses _ to be desperate-looking.

Clark watches him for a moment.  “Do you still like it the way you used to?”

The question, equally earnest to the previous ones, throws Lex off guard.  He didn’t expect Clark to care, or remember — though really, knowing Clark, he should have.  He smirks, or tries to.  “If you want to give me head, I certainly won’t complain.”

Clark’s thumb is making circles in the meat of his inner thigh as he smirks right back.  “Of course.”

Then, he pulls back a little, leaning down so he can lick a hot stripe up the inside of Lex’s other thigh. He breathes over Lex’s clit, teasingly, and Lex could  _ kill  _ him for it.  He wants that mouth where it  _ belongs _ , damn it.

Then, Clark, without further warning, takes Lex’s clit into his mouth and sucks.  Lex lets out a shout, not expecting so much stimulation all at once.

But then, Clark had always been enthusiastic about giving head.  It occurs to Lex that he knows  _ why _ , now: Clark doesn’t have to worry about losing control if all he’s doing is getting someone else off with his mouth.  Of  _ course _ it’s more pleasurable for him not to hurt someone than to risk it.

Lex rolls his hips into Clark’s mouth, groaning.

Clark’s hand strokes up and down his thigh as he shifts downward, tongue dragging down to Lex’s cunt.  He traces the edges, just as teasing, kissing and licking like he wants Lex to beg for it.

He slides his tongue back up to Lex’s clit, but one of his fingers takes its place to tease his cunt, just around the edges.

It’s  _ maddening _ , but quintessentially Clark.  Lex moans, one hand landing in Clark’s hair.

“Do you want my fingers?” Clark asks, his voice low and teasing, and god, fifteen years ago, he would  _ not _ have had the nerve to ask.

“What do  _ you _ think?”

Clark laughs against his crotch, and slips one finger in, slowly but surely.  Lex exhales, hand tightening in Clark’s hair; he hasn’t had anything in him in a while, and Clark’s fingers are thick.

Clark slides his free hand soothingly up and down Lex’s thigh and laves at his clit with his tongue to distract him from the stretch.  Lex  _ likes _ the sting, but he also likes  _ that thing Clark is doing with his tongue, holy  _ **_fuck_ ** .

When Clark’s finger is in him up to the knuckle, Clark starts shifting it, not much, but just a little, just to create a little friction, and the sensation combined with his mouth doing  _ that _ is almost too much for Lex to handle.  One of his legs curls over Clark’s shoulder, and he bucks against him to get more of this.

He has to admit, he hasn’t been eaten out like this in  _ years _ .  

Clark comes up for air with a smirk, his chin shiny from Lex’s cunt, and Lex is struck almost dumb for a moment at the self-satisfied lust in Clark’s expression.

Clark  _ knows _ he’s good at this.

“You want another finger?” Clark asks, like a challenge.

“ _ Fuck _ yes,” Lex responds, leaning up on one elbow to get a proper look at him.  

The spark in Clark’s eyes is triumphant, and, on the next shallow thrust of his finger, Clark adds a second one, pressing it in beside the first.

Lex’s eyes roll back in his head and he  _ yowls _ his pleasure, completely lost in it.

Clark gently nips the inside of his thigh, slowing his pace a little while Lex adjusts.  Lex will never admit it, even on pain of death, but he appreciates the gesture.

Two fingers are even better than one, especially when Clark seals his mouth around Lex’s clit again and sucks him again.  Lex moans, bucking against Clark, his whole awareness just reduced to Clark and what Clark is doing to him.

Then, something changes slightly, because Clark — Clark starts  _ vibrating his tongue _ against Lex’s clit.  

You really can’t blame Lex for coming immediately, after that.

His body tenses up and he cries out, his insides pulsing around Clark’s fingers, and his breath catches before his body relaxes and he goes limp.

“Did you just —?”

“Superspeed,” Clark says, and he sounds like the cat in the cream.

“I hate you so much.”  

Clark laughs and gets up from between Lex’s legs, gently pulling his fingers out of him as he does so.  “Trust me, I know.”

Lex looks over at him, and his erection is  _ very _ evident.  At some point, he’d managed to take his pants off — Lex isn’t sure when — and so he’s lounging on the bed in white briefs, looking like a cross between a porn star and an underwear model.

“I’m guessing you want help with that?” Lex points out, gesturing weakly with his hand.

“I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself,” Clark says, teasing.  “If you’re too tired, you’re too tired.”

Lex rolls his eyes, too sexually satisfied to be mad at him.  “Careful.  Keep talking like that, and this won’t happen again.”

Shit.  That implies that he thinks it  _ should _ .  Fuck.

Well.  Fuck it, he supposes.  He’s already working with the Justice League, it’s not  _ that _ much of a step to start fucking Superman on a regular basis, is it?

Apparently it shows on his face, because Clark smirks at him.  “All right, I’ll be quiet,” he teases.

“If you plan on fucking me, you don’t have to worry about being quiet,” Lex says, shifting one leg open a little wider.

Clark blinks.  “Are you sure?  What about oversensitivity?”

“I enjoy that,” Lex assures him.  

“Okay, then,” Clark says, slipping out of his underwear.  Lex isn’t sure he’s ever been quite that confident in his own nakedness, but he likes that Clark seemingly is.

Clark climbs on top of him, looking at him from a close distance.  “By the way,” he adds, “you’re really hot when you come.”

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Lex wakes stretched alongside Clark, and can’t help but think to himself that maybe, just maybe, this  _ ought _ to become a regular thing.

When Clark sleepily tosses an arm around his waist, he decides that it should.


End file.
